


You Shouldn't Be Here

by fab_fan



Series: Death is Life [2]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_fan/pseuds/fab_fan
Summary: “You shouldn’t be here.”Scylla blinked, her thumb automatically clicking the lighter.Anacostia settled beside her, uniform starched and ironed, buttons shining and shoes polished. “It’s not safe for you here. Anyone could see you.”Scylla shrugged, schooling her features, “It’s not the first time you’ve told me to stay away from her.”
Relationships: Anacostia Quartermaine & Scylla Ramshorn, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: Death is Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755430
Comments: 48
Kudos: 286





	You Shouldn't Be Here

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this is going, or if it's going anywhere at all, but here it is. Read Coffeeshop Confessions first for this to make the most sense. Also, let me know if this is actually something that should be continued or left alone.

It was cloudy.

Of course it was cloudy.

It was wet and miserable and the sun wouldn’t shine to save its soul.

Not that Scylla could blame it. How could anything shine today?

The necro hovered near the edge of the field, fingers fidgeting with the lighter in her palm. 

Click.

Click.

Click.

Her eyes scanned the forming crowd. She could make out the blue of the uniforms, freshly pressed and boots shining. The browns of the boys' uniforms blended in, breaking up the monotony. 

The fucking Army. With its uniforms and protocols. It’s forced sacrifice. Every single person was at their assigned chair. Sitting there like good little sheep doing their master’s bidding. They didn’t care. Weren’t there because they wanted to be. Not because they felt the loss in their soul so goddamn deep that it felt like nothing would ever be ok again.They didn’t cry late at night. Tremble as memories played over and over in their minds. Glimpses of salacious grins and dopey smirks. Of fiery ice blue eyes and glimmering pink lips. They didn’t feel a hand holding their own that wasn’t there. Shiver as phantom arms wrapped around their waist. Gasp as the weight of an invisible body pressed into them, burrowing in so far it was as if they were one.

No, they didn’t feel what Scylla felt.

They would never feel what Scylla felt.

She flicked the lighter harder. 

Click. 

Click

Click.

There were two coffins near the front. A small table stood off to the side of each. A lone photo displayed with precision like a silent sentry for its designated coffin.

Goddess, even the photo was wrong. That wasn’t her girl. Not really. Yes, it was a part of her. One small part. The part that excelled in training and took the oath on conscription day. But, it wasn’t _her._ It wasn’t the laughing woman who twirled Scylla around the dance floor at the Bellweather wedding. It wasn’t the one who charmingly walked her all the way back to her dorm room the first time they met. The person in that photo didn’t smile. Her eyes didn’t sparkle. There was no emotion. How could there be no emotion when Raelle felt everything so damn much?

Gentle chatter filtered in and out. Small talk. Nothing important. Nothing memorable. 

Scylla’s restless fingers froze as she spotted him. Standing off to the side, alone. His jacket, nice but still a few years past its prime, was slightly wrinkled and his tie crooked. He was looking down at his clasped hands. No one approached him, a few sparing him with a perfunctory nod but not much more.

Edwin Collar. A civilian surrounded by witches. A Cession among High Atlantics.

His eyes were hollow. Haunted. He was clean shaven and hair combed, like he had taken extra time that morning. If she looked closely, Scylla could see that his hands shook and his chin quivered. He was holding back, but not by much. 

His daughter was gone. 

As far as he knew, his wife was too.

His daughter loved him. Adored him. She told Scylla stories about her childhood. How her dad would take her to get ice cream every time her mom deployed. How he would always burn the mac and cheese and one time turned their entire load of laundry into polka dotted clothes because he accidentally dumped bleach in. But, he also taught her what tools to use to fix a broken window the one time she whipped a lacrosse ball through it and took her camping under the stars on her tenth birthday. He caught her drunk one time when she was sixteen and, after making sure she made smart choices about who she drank with, took her to their neighbor and nearly hurt himself laughing as she tried moonshine for the first time. If a Collar was going to drink, a Collar was going to drink right. He taught her how to slow dance with a girl and always let her know how much her mom loved her. 

Once she mentioned Scylla and him maybe meeting when she graduated from Basic. She said her dad would like Scylla. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Scylla blinked, her thumb automatically clicking the lighter.

Anacostia settled beside her, uniform starched and ironed, buttons shining and shoes polished. “It’s not safe for you here. Anyone could see you.”

Scylla shrugged, schooling her features, “It’s not the first time you’ve told me to stay away from her.”

Anacostia sighed, “Do the Spree know you’re here?”

“Do you mean does my group know that I’m at my,” her strong voice faltered for a second before she quickly covered it up, “at an Army funeral for two witches killed by our oppressors we’re enslaved to protect?” The flame appeared briefly before being snuffed out, “I don’t tell them everywhere I go. You should know that.”

Anacostia didn’t react to the belligerent facade, “I see you wore protection.”

Scylla unconsciously touched the combat charm pinned to her chest, “Browerbirds like anything blue.” Scylla’s mouth twitched with sorrow, “She used to tell me she thought it was dumb until she saw my blue eyes. Then, she understood it.”

Anacostia hummed.

_Scylla shivered as cool lips and a hot tongue tasted the soft skin at the hollow of her throat. A tiny nip was followed by a soothing kiss. Hands roamed over her belly and hips. The mouth moved further up, teeth tracing the curve of her jaw. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh as the softest kiss met each eyelid._

_“Beautiful. So beautiful.” Raelle whispered. Her fingertips danced over heated sweat soaked flesh, “How can someone be so beautiful?”_

_Scylla swallowed down the three words trapped inside her chest and opened her eyes, staring up into adoration, “I don’t know. I guess you have good genes.”_

_A breathy chuckle accompanied Scylla’s shriek as Raelle tickled her sides, “Shut up.”_

_“Make me.”_

_Raelle wasted no time dipping down for a kiss, “You’re so sassy after sex.”_

_“Guess you better keep touching me, because we both know you like it when I am.”_

_“Is that so?” Another kiss. “And so cocky.”_

_Hips shifted and arms tightened their hold, “Touch me, Rae.”_

_“Yes’m.”_

The chatter before them grew louder as Petra Bellweather arrived. She marched over to her seat, head held high but a sense of unadulterated pain hung off her.

“Craven insisted they do the funeral together. A Bellweather usually would have her own.”

Of course they would. High Atlantics didn’t mingle with the lower classes. And of course Tally would insist they were together. Raelle mentioned more than once how the redhead brought them all together. Made them a family instead of three witches tossed together. If it wasn’t for Tally, Raelle and Abigail would still be spitting insults and tussling in the rough room.

Tally was nice. A bit bouncy, but sweet. She treated Scylla kindly when they hung out at the wedding. Genuinely asked about what she liked and disliked and cooed over her and Raelle enough to cause the blonde to blush. Goddess how Scylla missed that blush. 

Alder soon arrived.

Scylla let her hand drop, a fist forming as she glared at the general. Stern and tall, not a blemish on her ancient skin. Not one bruise. Not one cut. Not even a misplaced hair.

This was her fault, too. Her and the Camarilla.

She made it so Raelle wasn’t at War College.

Raelle should’ve been in War College. She was smart. Powerful. Once she started trying, Scylla knew her Unit was the best of that year. There were whispers the three were the strongest to be seen in a generation, if not more.

But fucking Sarah Alder and her need for power.

She led the Unit there. Led Raelle to her death. Left her to die without so much as a backward glance. Watched as some human civilian stabbed the woman she loved and didn’t do a goddamn thing about it.

“Calm. Down.” Anacostia ordered quietly.

Scylla’s jaw clenched, “This is stupid. Raelle wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t…”

She wouldn’t want a military funeral. She would want to be buried back home. Under the big oak tree a little ways out from her house. A place her dad could visit her and she could be among childhood memories. Raelle worried about her dad. About how he was going to live knowing his wife and daughter were both gone. That there was nothing he could do about it. The man supported Raelle. Loved her. Did his best to not let her see how torn up he was inside, though Raelle knew he was. And now, none of these people would even speak to him. Raelle was gone, and everything Raelle loved was ignored. Her hopes. Her dreams. The Army never cared what she wanted. What she would whisper about to Scylla as they curled in the older girl’s bed. About fireflies and slow dances and a father meeting her girlfriend.

_“My dad is coming to my graduation.” their joined hands swung between them as they slowly walked through the empty field, “He probably bought his plane ticket the day we got mine to come out here.”_

_“Papa Collar, gracing Fort Salem with his moonshine and southern cession chivalry.” Scylla teased, “Watch out girls, two Collars in one place. Might be too much to handle.”_

_Raelle rolled her eyes, cheeks burning, “You’re too much to handle. And you like our southern cession chivalry.”_

_“Yeah, I do.” she kissed her cheek._

_Raelle tugged her close, unlinking their hands so she could wrap an arm around her shoulders, “He’ll really like you. Always told me I needed to find myself a little trouble.”_

_“He did not.”_

_“No,” Raelle conceded with a grin, “but he did say I’d end up with someone who I could just look at and know everything was ok. That's how it was with him and Mom.” She glanced down at her shoes, “You make me believe, Scyl.”_

_Scylla’s chest tightened and emotions closed her throat. Stopping, she pressed a kiss to Raelle’s cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. Cupping her jaw, she drew her in, slanting her head and melding their lips together._

_As they broke apart, Scylla rested her forehead against the blonde’s._

_“You’ll come? To my graduation? And meet him?”_

_Scylla could only kiss her again, wordlessly saying everything she couldn’t aloud._

“The caskets are empty.” Anacostia spoke up.

“What?”

“The caskets. Are empty.” 

Scylla finally peeked over at her. 

Anacostia had her hands clasped behind her back, “They never found the bodies. There was an explosion, it’s likely the bodies were incinerated. But, they never found the bodies or,” she took a breath, “or any remains linked to Collar or Bellweather.”

Scylla’s breath caught in the back of her throat, “What are you saying?”

Anacostia tilted her head, eyes coolly looking down on her, “There were bodies of the Camarilla and the soldiers they killed. Except for Bellweather and Collar. No bodies. No remnants. Not even their medals.”

Not even their medals.

Scylla’s eyes widened as the microphone screeched. General Alder stepped up to the podium.

Anacostia and Scylla stared at each other.

“I have to go.” Anacostia began to step away, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Where should I be?”

“You tell me, Ramshorn,” Anacostia turned, “You’re the one who was always able to find her.”

Scylla watched her walk away. Then, with one last glance at the photo next to an empty casket, an impassive Raelle staring out in her uniform, she walked away. Her hand tapped the bird’s foot pinned to her jacket. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a smattering of rain began to descend upon the gathering as she let her fingertip drop to press into her palm, tracing the familiar S pattern.

She had no time to waste.


End file.
